Author's Note: It's rated M because of sensitive subjects. Nothing too graphic. Also, if you've been waiting on an upload for another story of mine "Blood and Wine". Blame the site. It won't let me upload a new chapter…

Tomorrow she'd be leaving for camp. Tomorrow she'd get into her still rather new 1994 Toyota Celica and take US-13 and I-95 all the way from her home in Norfolk, Virginia to Long Island, New York. Tomorrow she would rejoin Camp Half-blood.

Now though, she was going through motions she'd long since mastered. She wondered for a moment if these were natural movements or something she'd just taught herself to do. As she turned the key in her ragged car to stop the ignition, tears flowed freely down her cheeks, but she wasn't aware of the tears until they had graced her lips, leaving the faint taste of salt water to mix with the subdued lip gloss that painted her lips older than what she was.

Tomorrow she'd be blaring music as she sped down the interstate. Tomorrow she'd probably get a speeding ticket. Tomorrow she would beg Chiron to not take her keys knowing that he would anyway.

The parking lot was almost empty. It wouldn't start filling up for nearly another two hours, at the earliest. Still though, she opened her car door. Black heels clapped against the gravel as she stepped out of the car making the same sound they always made. Mechanically, her hands ran down her body to smooth the modest dress. It was long enough that she even when she walked the hem barely crept above her knees that were already covered by thin black nylon. It was only on the empty, calculated steps up the stairs of the building that caused her dress to rise higher than her knees.

Even though this was a new building to her, she knew they were all the same. From the layout to the smell. Eau de peine, if it were to be bottled. Her black attire contrasted sharply with the stark white tiles as she paused in the foyer for a moment. A single picture wrapped in a unique wreath of mourning lilies, laurels, and palm leaves. It was probably the only detail that kept changing. Or did it change?

Her blue eyes closed for a moment, lids pressing down tightly as she bent her head. Mascara soiled her tears as they trickled down her sharp, pointed nose before falling to floor. She inhaled suddenly as her eyes opened again and she walked farther into the building. Her head was bowed as she walked down the hall, causing her uneven blond bangs to obscure her eyes and her upturned eyebrows. Heavy oak doors were the only thing that separated her now and she pushed them open though it looked like it required more effort than it should have for the young woman.

When the door latched shut again, the sound echoed through the empty halls. It was then that a man, dressed in black with a simple white collar stepped out of a side room. He returned to the room and an older woman that grief had aged beyond her mere forty years stepped out. She met the young woman half way down the aisle.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make the wake, ma'am."

"It's a long drive, Jenna, I understand."

"I wanted to come. "

"I know."

"I have a few more things to talk about…if you'd-"

"Thank you."

The once mother watched the young woman for a moment. Jenna didn't meet her eyes. They stayed firmly on the floor. When she heard the door close again to the side room, Jenna looked up. Her eyes landed on what was sitting in the front of the service hall.

What was she supposed to do now? Hadn't she done this before? Why couldn't she remember?

Despite having gone through this many times as she walked towards the coffin, she wasn't sure what to expect. It was closed. She knew why. But her hands still went to the lid without any internal protesting, she lifted the lid.

She wouldn't remember what she saw. She'd remember how her friend would at summer camp, run down the pier and then cannon balling into the water, much to the dismay of its inhabitants after archery practice. She'd remember that impish grin when he finally mastered the turning water in wine skill. She'd remember his curly black hair and purple tinged eyes that contrasted with his dark tanned skin.

She wouldn't remember the reconstructed face, the fake hair, the artificial look of peace on his face. Her blue eyes continued to stare down at her old friend. With one hand she held the lid open so that her other could reach down to the small purse that was brushing against her hip. Her fingers slipped into the purse and her fingers pulled out four gold coins. Barely looking at her friend as she did this, she set one on each eye and then two beneath his tongue. Or…what was left of his tongue anyway.

Jenna heard voices again and the door open. With a slight jump and fear of upsetting his mother, the lid slipped from her hand and closed with an echoing bang that silenced the two adults.

"Jenna…"

"Drachmas."

The old face softened as she looked at the young woman. "Thank you, Jenna. He would have appreciated it too." The man of the Christian God was silent through the exchange, skilled in letting grief take its course, no matter where it went.

The two females looked at each other for a moment before the older one went off with the holy man and she was left alone with the body. She eventually found a pew and sat down. Jenna bent her head down, forehead resting on the back of the pew in front of her. When she finally opened her eyes up, she saw that she wasn't alone. A haggard looking man with untamable black curls and bloodshot eyes was sitting in the pew across the aisle and in the first row. The only hint of life still about him the was the purple suit, but even that had lost its vibrant appearance. The bench creaked as she sat up again and the man looked back at her.

Tomorrow, they'd pretend that they never saw each other. Tomorrow, he'd go back to yelling at her. Tomorrow, he wouldn't know her name.

Slowly the pews started to fill up. And soon enough the elderly man from before was speaking. Talking about a life that was cut short. Pain that was too great to handle. And a better place in the world beyond their eyes. The casket stayed closed the entire time.

As the man before them spoke, she closed her eyes again. Tears had been flowing for so long that she couldn't remember when she actually started crying. They seemed to be a part of her look now.

It wasn't the first funeral she attended.

It wasn't the first closed casket service.

It wasn't the first friend she watched get laid to rest.

It wasn't the first friend that took their own life, slowly leaving her alone in the world. Battling monsters on her own.

Chiron had told her how many heroes died young, how most of them died young. He failed to mention how many took their own lives. He never told her how many couldn't deal with the pain or the emotional burdens. Or the paranoia of always looking over their shoulder to see what new monster was chasing them next. Or who felt unworthy of being called a child of their parent. She had seen..

a half-brother that hung himself after getting in too deep with the gambling sharks.

a friend overdose on her father's painkillers after being rejected from Harvard.

a friend that drove his car off a cliff after coming home from Somalia.

and now a friend that shot himself in a drunk stupor.

Whether it was the shame of disappointing their parent or the feelings of abandonment they had when they needed them the most, Jenna didn't know. Nor could she say if her next funeral would be hers or a friend's. Or if it'd be on a pyre or in a coffin that they were sent to rest on.

Effortless she found herself rising with the rest of the people in her pew and exited the building, going back to her car. Once inside she rested her head on the wheel, rather she seemed to be holding onto the wheel for life support as she gasped for a few choking breaths through the tears.

"Why isn't it getting any easier?" came her voice, though slightly muffled by the plastic covering on the wheel. "Answer me!" She yelled suddenly turning to look at the man that was now seated next to her in the car. His suit was properly black. His hair was a curly black and he shared the same characteristic nose as Jenna. But if face was aged to match someone that had seen death enough to accept it, or so it seemed. He was silent at the screams from Jenna.

This part she remembered. He would show up just before they buried. He'd take them away after he saw her. She'd ask the same questions. He'd give the same answers. He looked at her with the look any father would give a daughter he couldn't comfort as she spoke again. Was he there to let her know that her friends would be taken to the underworld safely? To assure her that they'd rest with the rest of the heroes?

"You see death everyday! How do you make it stop hurting? Dad, please…" His breathing became more rapid with every word that she yelled at him. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"You have a long trip back. An even longer trip tomorrow. It would be best if you didn't go to the graveyard."